


Unremarkable

by ElizaG1



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: First Meetings, One Shot, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26932846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaG1/pseuds/ElizaG1
Summary: This is my version of what was going through Fitzwilliam Darcy's head at the fateful Meryton Assembly.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	Unremarkable

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came out of a conversation with fellow JAFF writers about what exactly is going on with Darcy to justify his behavior at the assembly. I would love to hear your thoughts!

Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire was accustomed to having the privilege of deciding exactly how he would spend his time. He was a man of great fortune, looks, pride, _and_ the abundance of choice befitting his station. It was a rare occasion indeed when he found himself between Scylla and Charybdis. And yet, tonight only two alternatives were placed before him: attending the dance being hosted at the local assembly or remaining at Netherfield Park with Caroline Bingley as his overly solicitous and loquacious companion. 

So he made a choice, and that is how he now found himself standing near the wall of the assembly, wishing himself invisible. Social engagements drained him, and it was an act of self-preservation to speak only if spoken to, to remain close to his own party, and to avoid being introduced to anyone who would require more than he was able or inclined to give in an assembly such as this. He much preferred intimate settings rather than these public ones.

The music was too jolly, the crowd too uncouth, the liquor in the punch too strong, the whispers too loud. He _knew_ it would be bad, but the alternative was worse. Caroline was not so bad in London, where she had fashionable acquaintances who could take up some of her attention, but she had spent the entire sojourn to Hertfordshire complaining about the countryside and all they would be missing in town. She latched onto him even more amongst such rabble, and while he could hardly begrudge her not wanting to socialize with the local townsfolk, it was far too much for him to handle her every simpering complaint. If she only knew how to be quiet, they could have all enjoyed an evening in. Instead, everyone except Bingley, who came alive in the orbit of others, and Mr. Hurst, who made the best of every situation as long as good spirit was to be found, were put-out. 

He had danced with Mrs. Hurst once and would stand up with Caroline later since the local gentleman were quite eager to make sure she was well-partnered during the first half of the evening. Darcy glanced over at Caroline now, only to see her in conversation with her last partner. Her manners were well-practiced enough, but there was always a spiteful glint to her eyes when she looked her companion up and down. Everything and everyone seemed beneath her. Darcy scoffed at the thought, oblivious to any similarities in his own manner. 

Darcy walked the perimeter of the room and did his best to disappear into the window dressings. He made a cursory visual sweep of the attendees as he walked. Many of the girls were far too young to be in attendance, and he decided the local gentry must have a poor sense of propriety to allow girls who looked barely fifteen accept dances from men twice their age. None of the women were interesting to look at, although they all looked at him frighteningly enough. Well, they had been looking at him. When they first arrived, many had fluttered their eyelashes or smiled in his general direction, no doubt encouraged by matrons who heard of his wealth. But the longer Darcy made it clear he was not interested in any type of interaction with anyone outside his own party, their smiles had turned to pursed lips and poorly concealed shakes of the head in his general direction. 

He wondered if their false admiration and desire to please only when they knew of his wealth bothered him more than how quickly they all seemed to decide he was worthy of their disgust. Yes, he realized as he glanced about, they all seemed rather annoyed with him. Him! When all he had done was seek whatever solitude he could and had not treated their unremarkable daughters with the false flattery they anticipated. Sometimes he wondered if his wealth and his name were more of a curse than a blessing. Darcy sighed a little to himself, knowing he was being overly indulgent in his own self-pity. But his position in society was sometimes a burden. In public, it robbed him of the sort of anonymity he craved and forced him into social situations he would otherwise avoid. His responsibility towards Pemberley and its tenants, which he had taken on at a much too early age, weighed heavily on him even when he was away from Derbyshire. He was vigilant in preserving the respectability of the Darcy family, to honor his late parents and for Georgiana’s sake.

Dearest Georgiana. Darcy stilled in a corner and stared blankly over the crowd as his thoughts turned to his sister. She had suffered greatly. She was always a shy and timid girl, but George Wickham’s betrayal caused her to turn further into herself. She would never have been Wickham’s target if her dowry was not such an incredible amount. She deserved a life where her name and her money did not cause her such grief. She deserved a brother who could protect her. Chance had brought him to Ramsgate, nothing more. The possibility of his failure and her ruin had been too close for Darcy’s comfort, and it continued to plague him. This was a common chain of thought for Darcy - he would blame himself, his wealth, his error in trusting Georgiana’s companion, his lack of foresight. Eventually, after a hearty drink, he would settle the blame mostly at George Wickham’s feet, but not until he thoroughly chastised himself. 

If he was at Netherfield Park, he could have these thoughts to himself in the privacy of his room. Darcy’s patience for the entire evening was wearing thin. 

No sooner had he come to this realization did Charles Bingley appear at his side.

“Darcy, you have now walked the room thrice. Surely dancing would be better exercise,” Bingley said. Darcy looked at him. The very things that endeared Bingley to him also annoyed him. His easiness and openness complemented his own reserved nature in a way that made their time together enjoyable. But Bingley never seem to understand that the things Bingley enjoyed were not universally enjoyed. No matter how long they had been acquainted, it seemed beyond his capacity to understand that Darcy would never be at ease in company he did not know. Or maybe his friend fully understood this and simply wanted to plague Darcy for all eternity. Bingley was practically beaming at him waiting for a response. 

Darcy replied with his usual defense: he hated to dance, and it would be insupportable unless he was well acquainted with his partner. The last thing he wanted to do was engage in insipid small talk about the size of the room or the number of couples. 

“You act as if you do not know my thoughts on this matter. I have been quite clear on my preferences in the past,” Darcy finished dryly. To his dismay, Bingley was undaunted.

“It is certainly different from past assemblies, Darcy. I have never seen so many pleasant girls in my life.”

Darcy conceded that Bingley had spent much of the evening dancing with a handsome girl. Bingley seemed very pleased that Darcy agreed with him, and he was encouraged. 

“Her sister is very pretty,” Bingley said. Darcy’s composure broke only in that his right eye twitched slightly at the volume at which Bingley spoke. It was not the first time Darcy wondered if Bingley even knew how to whisper. Still, he indulged Bingley.

“Which do you mean?” 

With a head tilt and slight waggle of his eyebrows, Bingley indicated towards the dark-haired girl Darcy had seen speaking to Bingley’s partner earlier in the evening.

Darcy looked towards the woman in question. She was not very far from them, and his view was unobstructed. One set had just ended, and new partners were being assembled for the next set. She was standing on the edge of the dance floor, her gloved hands clasped in front of herself, and to Darcy’s relief, decidedly not looking towards them. 

Her face was less than symmetrical, and she was of average height. Her golden dress was cut to her figure well, but it lacked the kind of sophistication usually seen in a London ballroom. Her dark hair was elegantly coiffed, a few curls framing her round face and flushed cheeks. Her brown eyes seemed to smile when she did as she observed the dancers in front of her intently. Entirely unremarkable. 

Then her eyes met his.

Darcy looked away and turned towards Bingley, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me. I am in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men,” Darcy pronounced in a volume matching Bingley’s. The musicians had chosen that moment to pause the tuning and fingering of their instruments just prior to the start of the dance. His voice carried.

Bingley was about to protest when Darcy encouraged him to return to his partner. His friend needed little inducement and readily followed his advice. 

Darcy retreated further into a corner. The unremarkable woman he had remarked on crossed his line of vision a handful of times throughout the night. Now that Bingley had pointed her out, she became an individual amidst the crowd. She had not wanted for partners the rest of the evening. And at least once, Darcy caught her looking at him as she was giggling with another young lady. He had the distinct impression she was laughing at him.

It was of little importance. Before long, he danced with Caroline Bingley, who complained that the room was far too small for the number of couples in the set to dance comfortably. He heard little else of what she was saying. Mercifully, the evening ended. Darcy resolved to not think about this horrid evening again.

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge: I hope to see others to contribute their own versions of the fateful Meryton Assembly. T
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting!


End file.
